


P.I. On A Wet Slate Roof

by frankie_mcstein



Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Fever dreams of a warzone?, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ill Magnum, No fighting but still, Rick of the wonderful hearing, Thomas on a case, accidental injury, ladders as a plot device, poor Tommy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:29:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24506212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankie_mcstein/pseuds/frankie_mcstein
Summary: Magnum just wanted to find the coins and get home before the storm hit so he could feel ill in peace. So, naturally, he finds himself stuck on a roof in the rain. And cold. Thank goodness for friends with more loyalty than sense.
Relationships: Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV & Everyone
Comments: 20
Kudos: 85





	P.I. On A Wet Slate Roof

**Author's Note:**

> I can't for the life of me remember why I started this. Or where I was originally going with it. But, here, have some ill Magnum and some worried friends, complete with a fever dream and soft, caring Higgy.

Magnum was about ready to give up. The painkillers he'd taken still hadn't kicked in, his legs were starting to ache in time with his head, and he'd been all over the house and grounds, twice, and still hadn't found anything to point him towards his client's missing coin collection. Times like this he regretted not being able to pay Higgins enough to make her drop her contract with Robin and work for him full time. Of course, that would leave Robin without a majordomo and Higgins without a place to live. And him with a massive monthly financial commitment. 

On second thought, maybe it wasn't his best idea. Handy as it would have been to have an ex-spy poking around looking for hidden signs that would lead them to buried treasure- yes, yes, he was perfectly aware that the chances the coins had actually been buried were infinitesimally low, thanks- he'd rather she take the odd day to catch up on estate business than be solely responsible for her income. He was barely even able to manage his own income. 

Nevertheless, he could have used an extra set of eyes. Especially as his own felt itchy and dry. This was supposed to have been a quick trip. He should have been back at Robin's Nest over an hour ago. Now, he'd be lucky if he made it back at all. Road closures were expected ahead of the tropical storm he could already see off in the distance, and most of them were going to be on this side of the island. 

He headed back to the Ferrari, looking a little dejected and feeling fairly miserable. He had failed to make any progress on the case, and he was probably going to have to try to ride out a storm in the Ferrari instead of being tucked away in Robin's comfy guesthouse with its backup generator. Oh yes, and he was pretty sure he was coming down with something.

He may or may not have kicked at the scrubby grass with his toe as he went over the details of the now stalled case in his mind. If Higgins, or anyone else for that matter, had been with him, he absolutely wouldn't have scuffed his shoes. But, what with him being all alone and lonely and potentially dying of the plague, he might have. Just once. Life was so hard for a poor little P.I. sometimes.

That thought was uppermost in his mind when he caught sight of what looked like a bag on the roof of the house. He almost didn't bother to take any real notice of it, listening to the way his body was aching and immediately dismissing it as some old rubbish that had been blown there. If it were important, he reasoned, it wouldn't have been plonked on the roof where anyone could see it.

_ 'You nearly missed it,' _ his brain pointed out, sounding a little smug,  _ 'and you were really looking _ .  _ Why would anyone else spot it?' _

He couldn't deny, his annoying little inner voice had a point. He glanced up at the sky, not at all happy with how thick the clouds had gotten, and then headed back over to the small shed he had turned upside down earlier. He remembered seeing a ladder in there and thought it might just be long enough to get him to the roof.

Sure enough, when it was fully extended, the ladder reached just far enough for him to stretch up and grab the edge of the slate. For the first time in his life, he found he was jealous of T.C.'s height and chased away the feeling by imagining Higgins trying to reach the roof instead.

He would never know if it was the huff of laughter, the split second of dizziness, or just one of those things. One second, he was holding the edge of the roof firmly, knees braced to step off the top rung of the ladder and climb up the wall; the next second, his legs were flailing in midair as the ladder toppled over.

Pulling himself up wasn't as hard as it might have been, his feet finding purchase on the rough stone of the wall. He could have done without the adrenaline dump that had come with feeling the ladder slowly tipping over though. He sank to the roof, panting a little, pressing his hands hard against the surface as if assuring himself he wasn’t about to join the ladder and end his days sprawled on the ground.

He shook it off quickly enough; you can’t survive in the military if you fall to pieces at every unexpected hiccup, and he had built a very good reputation for himself while he was in the service. 

_ ‘First things first, let's see what that bag is. Then worry about how to get down without breaking something important. Like your neck.’ _ He was less and less impressed with his mental voice with every sarcastic word it spoke. 

The wind picked up as he made his way over to the bag he had spotted. It had been taped down at one point, thick strips of duct tape wrapped around and over it. But one strip had come away from the roof- the ragged look of it made him think it had been attacked by a bird- leaving the handle of the bag flapping in the breeze. It took a lot more effort than he had expected to prise off the rest of the tape, especially while he was struggling to maintain his balance on the slope of the roof as the wind pulled at his shirt.

He even fumbled with the zipper, having to shift his weight to accommodate the way gravity kept trying to tip him over. Finally though, he was looking inside the bag at a nearly priceless collection of antique coins. He gave a happy sigh as he grinned to himself, carefully closing the bag again, and then turning his head to look at the ground that was oh so far away.

He made his way slowly back down to the edge of the roof, half-heartedly wondering if he could just jump. He quickly discounted the idea though. At the very least, he would probably break a limb, and he needed all four of them to drive back to Robin's Nest. Especially if he wanted to get back without causing an accident. With the way the wind was starting to bring down showers of rain with every gust, he was pretty sure today was not the day to be trying to handle the Ferrari with blurry vision and broken bones.

Phone. He nodded, willing to overlook how embarrassing it would be to call, well, anyone, and tell them he was trapped on a roof like a particularly incompetent cat. His hands dropped the bag in favor of patting his pockets. His empty pockets. Frowning, he looked down and across at the Ferrari, trying to remember if he had dropped his cell in the cup holder like he usually did before he had noticed the quick movement out of the corner of his eye.

Oh. Oh dear. The roof was still down. It was starting to rain in earnest, it was only going to get worse as time went on, and he hadn’t put the roof up before running to the shed. The thought of the damage the water was going to do to the interior of the car, of how much it would cost to fix it, of what Higgins was going to say when she found out, was nearly enough to make him seriously reconsider the whole ‘throwing himself off the roof and hoping for the best’ idea.

“Unbelievable.” He spoke it out loud, feeling the occasion warranted more than a mental acknowledgement. He was on a roof, he felt awful, a tropical storm was about to make landfall, and, unless someone with a death wish came over the area in a helicopter, he was stuck. He spent some time wondering what the better option would be- staying put or climbing into a chopper with a pilot who wanted to crash.

He wasn’t able to decide between the two before a rumble made his ears prick up and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Thunder, far off, but he knew it was getting closer. The rain was constant drizzle now, and it was getting heavier by the minute, driven into his face by the wind that seemed, for the moment, to have settled on non-stop and cold. He picked the bag up again, turned, and slowly started picking his way back up to the ridge, hoping to follow it along to the chimney. 

He had to drop the bag after a few stumbling steps; the slate was wet now and his feet kept slipping, threatening to send him sliding straight over the guttering and out into nothingness. He perched awkwardly, feet splayed and hands trying to press themselves into the space between the molecules that made up the slate, and watched in utter dismay as the bag slipped, twisted, and sailed off the roof. 

Even though he strained his ears, he couldn’t tell if the bag had burst open at the impact or not. He nearly started to make his way back down to take a peek, but lightning split the sky, making him realize both how dark it had gotten over the last few minutes and how much closer the storm had come. 

He gave up the bag and coins as lost, hopefully only temporarily, and got back to making his way to the chimney. He had some vague idea of being able to shelter against it. At the very least, he hoped he would be able to somehow anchor himself to the stack or maybe even one of the chimney pots. After all, the house was older than he was, the chimney must have seen its fair share of storms like this, and it was still standing. Lashing himself to it somehow wasn’t the stupidest of ideas.

…

This had been a spectacularly stupid idea. He was soaked. And freezing. And his nose wouldn’t stop running, which seemed to be somehow making his throat hurt. The wind was tugging at him, billowing gusts that had nearly sent him tumbling down the roof and crashing to the ground twice. And the longer it went on the more exhausted he felt, and the more likely he was to fall. 

He dismissed the sound of his name being called in favor of adjusting his grip. His fingers were numb, his hands were numb, his wrists were going the same way. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t be long now before he fell regardless of how hard he tried to save himself.

“Magnum!”

There it was again. Was the wind calling him? Was the ground? Did it want him to fall? Surely that was ridiculous.

“Hang on, Tommy!”

Wait, Tommy? Was that Rick? Magnum lifted his head a little as the sounds of footsteps reached him even over the wind. 

“Rick?” Really? Had he been blown here? Magnum stared in confusion as Rick reached out for him.

“C’mon, T.M. You need to get down from here.”

Magnum tried to explain about the ladder, about the distance from the roof to the ground, but, if Rick was listening, he didn’t seem interested. Just carefully tugged Magnum along with him as he made his way over to the edge of the roof.

“I got him!” he called down, and Magnum wondered if Rick was talking to the ground.

“Thank God! Can you get him down?” 

How strange. Magnum had never thought about it before, but, for whatever reason, he hadn’t expected the ground to have a British accent.

“Are you sure you can hold the ladder?”

The ground answered in the affirmative, and Magnum found himself being lowered down to the top rung of the same ladder that had fallen and left him stranded on the rooftop in the first place. It took some impressive upper body strength on Rick’s part to hold both Magnum and himself as they made their very slow way down. Halfway or so, Magnum’s numb hands finally betrayed him. He slipped, tried to catch himself, missed the rung, and was suddenly flat on his back, coughing from the impact.

A face appeared above him and he nearly called Rick’s name before realizing Rick was not a woman. He blinked, confused, and the name ‘Higgy’ floated into his mind. He opened his mouth to tell her he was glad to see her, that he was sorry he had mistaken her for the ground, that he wondered if she remembered the name of the goddess he had just confused her with when he had thought she was the earth itself.

“I can’t afford you,” he muttered instead. Her eyes widened slightly. Oh, right, she didn’t know about his previous train of thought with her wages and his bank account. He'd have to explain. 

"Just stay still for a moment." 

Magnum blinked. She didn't sound annoyed. Shouldn't she be annoyed? Hadn't he just called her a prostitute? She seemed more concerned with something on his head, looking intently at a spot somewhere off to the side of his face and poking a little around his hairline.

"I don't think it's anything serious," she was saying, and he suddenly realized she was talking to someone. Oh hey! There's Rick.

"Rick!" He tried to call his friend's name and felt like he hadn't made all that much noise, but Rick seemed to hear him. He'd always had good hearing. Magnum tried to reach up to pet Rick's ear, to show his appreciation, but something caught his hand.

"Easy, buddy. You gave yourself a nice little cut there when you landed." 

Oh. Was that why Higgy was poking at his head? Would make more sense than her suddenly deciding she wanted to run her fingers through his hair. Although that would have been nice. He wondered if she would kill him if he asked her to do it.

"Of course I wouldn't. Hush now. Let Rick help you up." 

Had he said that out loud? Oops. Oh wow, sitting up was hard. The world spun a little as Rick lifted his weight, going oddly gray. Was he allowed to pass out? He kinda really wanted to.

"Try and stay awake, T.M."

Oh, well, when Rick put it like that, there really wasn't any way to argue with him. Magnum was vaguely aware of the fact that he was moving, but he was more concerned with not throwing up. He swallowed hard as he felt bile rising in his throat, blaming the way he kept dipping and lifting. Maybe he could make that stop? Seemed like a good plan. So he tried planting his feet to stabilize his stance. 

Someone swore. Someone that sounded nothing at all like Rick. Magnum turned his head, a look of shock on his face as he regarded Higgins. When on earth would she have learned such awful language? He'd almost have mistaken her for a sailor. 

"You know perfectly well I was never a sailor, Magnum." She was back to sounding prim and proper. "Please lift your feet. No offense, but you're too heavy for us to carry you to the car."

Ah, right. They wanted to get him out of the rain. And if they couldn't carry him, they must be helping him walk. So that explained the way the world kept shifting drunkenly around him. He felt like he should have caught on to that sooner. Which made him wonder what was wrong with him. His thoughts felt muddled and slow, and his body felt hot and sore. Had he been in a fight?

"Only with gravity." 

Was that Rick? It sounded like Rick. Maybe Rick could explain to Higgy about the money mix-up. Magnum really didn't want Higgins thinking he was accusing her of selling her body. Not that he thought she wouldn't make an excellent living if she tried it.

"Thank you, I think."

But… money. That reminded him of something. Something important. Money. He didn't have any. But that was nothing new. No, this was something else. Someone else's money. Old money. The coins.

"Rick!" Magnum knew he wasn't talking as loudly as he wanted and wasn't sure how good Higgins' hearing was. But Rick had the ears. "I need the coins."

"You already said you can't afford Jules. I don't think coins are gonna cut it."

Well, obviously she wouldn't work for coins. It would take notes at the very least. Or, in his case, the occasional cup of coffee. No, no, that wasn't right. The coins weren't to pay anyone. They were so he could get paid. 

Magnum wasn't sure he could explain properly. There was something wrong between his thoughts and his voice; all the wrong things seemed to keep spilling out.

"Jules?"

No, he was Magnum. Wasn't he?

"He found the coins. Look."

Oh good, they'd figured it out without him. He knew he could count on them. 

"You're gonna get blown over the cliff edge! Let me get them."

Cliff? Someone was going over a cliff? Was he falling over a cliff? Maybe that was why the whole planet had suddenly tilted on its side.

"No one's falling anywhere, Tommy. Jules is just fine; she's nowhere near the edge. If you sit back up again, you can see for yourself."

Sit up? Was he lying down? That must be why the world seemed off centre. Sitting up might be good. Keeping an eye on Higgy would definitely be good. Especially if cliffs were involved. 

He tried. He really did. But somewhere between reaching out for Rick's hand and dragging his other arm under himself, Magnum quite suddenly passed out.

…

It really was way too hot. Sure, he was shivering. But it was too hot. Maybe he’d forgotten to turn the AC on? No, that couldn’t be right. Firstly because the whole system was on a thermostat, and secondly because he was shivering. Really was hot though. He wondered if he could figure out what was going on if he opened his eyes.

Maybe he would just think about it for a bit instead. What was the last thing he could remember? He found the bag and the coins. Right, that was a good thing. And then he dropped the coins. That was a bad thing. Oh wait, he had put them down, not dropped them. But they had fallen, that was right. Fallen off the roof. The roof he had been stuck on after the ladder developed a mind of its own and went and threw itself over.

So, he’d been stuck on the roof. Hadn’t been able to call anyone because… well, okay, he couldn’t quite remember why. But then what? 

“Magnum?”

That was a nice sound. That was his name, he thought. But who would be talking to him all the way up here on this roof? Maybe it was time he opened his eyes? It seemed like an awful amount of effort though. And really, was he all that anxious to find out who else was dumb enough to get stuck on a roof in a storm?

“I know you’re awake.”

Uh oh, the voice knew he was awake. Did that really matter? He wasn’t sure it did, actually. So what if he was pretending to be asleep? He was an adult; he could do what he liked.

“Open your eyes, Thomas.”

Huh. That’s weird. The voice calls him Thomas and suddenly his body is fighting to do what it says? What’s up with that? Who was it anyway? He huffed a little as things started coming into focus, only to realize he wasn’t on a roof after all. He was in his room? Oh, that’s right, and the AC was broken.

“Whosaho?” Okay, two things. One, that hurt, a lot, and he was never going to talk again. Two, what on earth was wrong with him? In his mind, that was a perfectly clear question.

“You’re running a fever.”

Oh, wait, the voice understood that? So who… 

He shifted his head a little, and finally Higgins’ face swam into focus. Higgins? There was something in his mind about her. Something he needed to ask her? No, something he needed to explain. But he couldn’t remember what. Something about money. No way she owed him money. Maybe he owed her? Well, he’d owed her money since about his first week in the guest house. But maybe he owed her more now?

“It’s okay, Magnum. The bag split when it landed, but I found all the coins. Now just rest.” She gave him a small smile as she spoke, but it didn’t do anything to hide how tired she looked.

_ ‘Well of course she’s tired. She went over the edge of a cliff, remember?’  _ Magnum was sitting bolt upright before his body even told him it was moving.

“Juliet!” His voice was too loud, hurting his own ears and catching in his dry throat.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I’m right here.”

And she was. She really was right there, sitting on the side of his bed, one hand, soothingly soft and warm, cupping his cheek. But, surely if she was there, she couldn’t have gone over a cliff edge? But she had. He remembered Rick saying it. Rick wouldn’t lie about something like that. Had Rick saved her somehow?

“Breathe, Magnum. I’m alright. Just breathe.”

Wasn’t he breathing? Well, that would explain the pain in his chest. And the way his head was hurting. And, now he came to think about it, the way his throat seemed to be both burning and closing at the same time. Oh look, darkness. How nice.

…

Six miles to the checkpoint and all through hostile territory. It would have been hard enough if they were all operating at a hundred percent. But the ambush had been cleverly planned and designed to do damage without killing, obviously with the intent of capturing some American soldiers. They were lucky they had managed to get away at all. Less lucky that Rick had taken a bullet to the leg. Now Magnum and Nuzo were carrying all the equipment and scouting for hostiles while T.C. half-carried, half-dragged Rick.

Magnum wanted to tug at the strap cutting into his neck, but that would mean shifting his grip on his rifle, and he wasn’t willing to risk it. As long as he was running point, he needed to be ready to fire at less than a moment’s notice. The others were depending on him. No way he was letting them down. He blinked as the sun suddenly flared somehow, nearly blinding him. The world about him shimmered, vanished, and was replaced with something that looked like a bedroom. Something that felt familiar.

He knew, somehow, that if the blinds weren’t closed, he would see a lush green lawn outside the window. Golden sand ending in a calm blue ocean. Maybe even a dog or two charging along somewhere. And next to the bed, the bed he was lying in, he realized, was a chair. It didn’t belong there; it had been moved from across the room. And someone was sitting there. She looked tired, pale, like she had been sitting awake for far too long and dealing with far too much.

He knew her. He knew that he knew her. But he couldn’t remember her name. And it didn’t matter anyway. Because this random dream needed to go. He had three men counting on him to lead them to safety, one of them injured. He didn’t have time for stress-induced hallucinations.

He blinked, and the room wavered and vanished. He sighed, rolled his shoulders, and ignored the feeling that his gun was heavier than it should be. He felt like it was dragging his arms down, and he was almost sure that, if he tried to aim, he wouldn’t be able to lift the barrel. He scoffed a little at the thought; lift the barrel of his rifle? He was struggling just to lift his legs.

Wait, that was not good. Why was he struggling to lift his legs? They had such a long way to go still. He tried to pick up the pace a little, trusting the others would either keep up or sing out. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move faster. He… he couldn’t move! He couldn’t move at all!

He tried to call out, to let his team know he was stuck somehow, but no sound seemed to be escaping from his mouth. Every word he tried to force out got stuck somewhere deep inside his chest as pain flared in his throat. He tried to turn, suddenly aware of the beads of sweat that were rolling over him, and felt pressure on his shoulders.

Hands? Were they hands? Invisible hands on his shoulders and holding him in place! Oh God, he was going mad! He tried to fight, to throw off the hands he couldn’t see. He grabbed out at thin air where he thought the wrists should be and was rewarded with a quiet cry of pain, and the pressure vanished for a moment before coming back. But, if it felt pain, whatever it was must be real. So he wasn’t going mad? Or had he imagined the cry? Was he imagining the pressure too? Maybe he was going mad after all?

“Hush now, it’s over.” 

The voice cut through the panic that was surging up in his gut, and he whipped his head from side to side, desperate to find the source. British? He didn’t know any Brits. And female. What the hell was a woman doing out here? Didn’t she know the sort of danger she was in? The things that would happen to her if she was caught?

“It’s just Higgy, brother.” T.C. sounded a little confused, as if Magnum should know what a ‘Higgy’ was. The pressure on his chest was suddenly gone and he fell, landing hard, feeling his body aching unreasonably severely even given what he had been through lately. He let his rifle drop to hang from its sling in favor of planting his hands on the sand to push himself up, but, as he did, a cool breeze washed over him.

It felt like cool water, trickling over his face, washing away the sweat and grime. His entire body relaxed at the sensation, the tension in his muscles easing away as he tipped his head back, chasing the feeling.

“There you go; just relax.”

That voice again. That woman again. She couldn’t be out here! They would have to get her to the checkpoint. She’d be safe there; they could arrange to get her back to whatever outfit she was assigned to. Not that they deserved her if they were going to let her go roaming around on her own like this.

“We need to take her with us.” That was better. His words came out clear and authoritative, not that he expected any of his team would argue about saving the young woman who had somehow gotten herself stuck out here.

“Her who?” Rick this time, and now he sounded confused too. 

Magnum still wasn’t able to stand up, but the wonderfully cool feeling was gone from his head, and he managed to scoot himself around in a half circle. His eyes widened. Rick wasn’t injured; he was standing on his own two legs, no sign of blood. But he wasn’t in tac gear either. Magnum’s eyes ranged over Nuzo and T.C. and narrowed in confusion. Shirts and jeans? What? He glanced down at himself, still fully laden with two men’s equipment.

“What…?” But the question was chased away by the cool feeling coming back. He tried to resist the way his body seemed to sink into the sand at the sensation, tried to keep himself tense and alert. But he couldn’t quite manage it. The image from before came drifting back. The bedroom that looked nothing like his and yet, somehow, was his. The woman he had seen before, standing by the bed now and rubbing at her wrist. T.C. was there, looking worried, Rick next to him.

But T.C. was right here in the desert with him. Rick was bleeding out just across from him. Wasn’t he? The confusion was too much. The cool feeling was soothing every ache and pain, and he let his eyes drift closed.

…

It took a long time to wake up. He kept hearing noises, voices he half-recognized, and trying to move toward them only to fall back. Or fall over. Or realize he was going in the wrong direction. And then the darkness would wrap its arms around him and cuddle him in close and time would pass without him noticing. When the darkness would fall back again, when the light would start creeping back around the edges of his vision, he would notice aches he had felt before had gone. Or that the voices he had been trying to listen to had been replaced with silence. 

"He never knew afterward quite what happened. He had only sketchy memories of shouting defiance at…"

Or they said something interesting and then trailed off into nothingness.

"Magnum?"

He frowned at the interruption. He'd been quite interested in the outcome of the fight the voice had been telling him about actually.

"You're doing it again." 

That was definitely amusement he could hear. But what was he doing that was so funny?

"You don't have to pretend to be asleep, you know. I don't have to stop reading just because you're awake."

"I'm awake?" Talking was an exercise in pain that he wasn't expecting, and he coughed at the strain in his throat. A quiet shushing noise soothed him and water splashed up against his lips. He drank greedily for two or three mouthfuls, then the glass was taken away. He actually whined, not that he would ever admit it. 

"You haven't been drinking enough," the voice said softly. "I don't want you making yourself sick. You can have more in just a minute."

He supposed he really should make the effort to open his eyes. Even if it was only to try to figure out where the water was being hidden. The light was blinding for a moment, and he felt his forehead wrinkle as he screwed his eyes shut. Then a shadow passed over his face, blocking the worst of the light from his eyes. 

"Try again now."

He knew that voice. It was the woman from the desert, the one they had needed to… what had they needed to do? Had they been working with her? That sounded right. But then, why didn't he remember being introduced to her before the assignment started? This was getting confusing. Better prise his eyes open and figure out what was happening.

There was a hand hovering over his eyes, hiding what he could now see was actually very dim sunlight. It was either very early or quite late. He blinked a little, feeling his eyes ache in complaint. He forced them to stay open and follow the arm that was attached to the hand, past the ugly bruises on the wrist, up to the shoulder, along the neck, and over to the face.

"Hey." She looked all kinds of relieved, the gentle smile going some way to undo the damage exhaustion had done.

Magnum looked closer and easily picked up the signs of a lack of self-care; pale skin, messy hair, dull eyes. It all looked wrong on her, but he wasn't too sure how he knew that.

"I should ring the boys and let them know you're awake. The doctor kept insisting you'd be okay, but you gave us a scare when your fever spiked."

The boys? So she knew them? Was she a nurse here? Why had a nurse been assigned to them while they were on assignment? But even as his mind asked the question, Magnum knew he had the wrong idea. This wasn't a field hospital or even a ward. And she wasn't a nurse. 

He blinked as she moved, and the last remnants of the odd dream fell away.

"Higgins?" 

She turned back at the sound of her name, abandoning the cell she'd been reaching for. Something she saw on his face must have worried her; she moved closer to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Thomas. I'm not going anywhere."

Magnum sighed at the words, letting his eyes slip closed for a second. The worried look was still on her face when he opened them again.

"I thought I was…" He trailed off with another cough. "A CSH," he forced out, hoping she knew enough military parlance and abbreviations to recognize Combat Support Hospital. The slight frown told him she didn't, but she shushed him when he opened his mouth to try to explain further.

"You thought you were still on deployment? Out in the field somewhere?" 

He nodded, hoping she would somehow understand his silence was due to the burning in his throat that he just knew would ease off if she would just make the water reappear. To his amazement, she stretched out a hand, the one with the awful bruising on the wrist, and lifted a bottle from his bedside table.

"Here," she whispered, apparently seeing the flash of pain on his face and mistaking it for a headache. "Small sips. The last thing you need is to be sick again."

He agreed with her wholeheartedly. The idea of moving at all was a miserable one. The thought of all those muscles bunching and stretching was enough to make him shudder. Or would have been, if he'd had the energy. 

"You kept muttering something about Rick being hurt. And having to save a woman from the desert?" 

He knew she was asking if it had been a real mission, but he was more interested in making his rolling stomach behave itself than answering. He remembered trying to fight an invisible attacker and suddenly knew the cry of pain he had heard was her, that he was the one who had hurt her. The shock of the realization, along with the sudden influx of water, left his stomach churning.

Whether she realized he was feeling nauseous or whether she thought it was too painful for him to talk about the assignment she was assuming he had revisited, he would never know. The water vanished again, and a few seconds later, he heard Higgins on the phone. It sounded like Rick and T.C. were close by, and Magnum found himself wondering if she had let them use two of the guest rooms.

He relaxed back into his pillows, noting they felt suspiciously soft, and making a mental note to ask whether Higgins had bought new ones specially for him, if only to see the look on her face.

"What happened to the bag with the coins?" he asked suddenly as she hung up. His memory had flashed up the sight of the bag dropping off the roof. "Did it go off the cliff?"

Higgins grinned and shook her head. "The bag, and all the coins, are in the safe. Waiting for you to get better so you can take them back to your client."

He felt a wave of drowsiness wash over him and didn't try to fight it. Even as the bedroom door clicked open, admitting Rick and T.C., Magnum felt himself falling asleep. He heard the quiet 'shh' as Higgins warned the two men that their friend was drifting off. He heard the quiet rumble of T.C.'s voice as he said something about them all getting some sleep. He heard the lighter sound of laughter as Rick said something about buying wet weather gear.

"Did you tell him you already covered the cost of reupholstering the Ferrari?" 

Magnum wasn't sure who was speaking, but he forced himself to listen for the answer.

"Not yet. I'm sure he'll figure it out when he sees it sitting in the driveway."

More talk about money? But he already had the coins. Maybe they had forgotten? Never mind, he'd remind them. When he woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> I do love messing with Magnum. I mean, I'm sure you've all noticed this already.


End file.
